


The Woods Were Dark and Deep

by Speary



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Beauty and the Beast Elements, Destiel - Freeform, Destiel Ficlet Challenge, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 17:09:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4313361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speary/pseuds/Speary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is the Keeper of Stories in the village of Trillingham. The village is surrounded by a thick forest filled with creatures that threaten their very safety. Beyond the woods though, there is a creature that protects them. Sam tells the story of how Dean, the last warrior, first encounters this creature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Woods Were Dark and Deep

This world was a strange one in the vast galaxy of planets. Its glow of blue ocean waters cutting through the dark expanse of space would draw any eye to it. As if to punctuate all that blue, a large lone continent of deep dark green sat in the midst of all that blue. The clouds that swirled around it looked like angel wings brushing over it all in a protective embrace.

Sam, The Keeper of Stories, often began his tales with this description of their world. It was good, he thought, to keep perspective, to remember that they were just one speck of existence in a vast universe of life. He held out his hands to the fire that burned in front of him. The warm, golden glow of it illuminated the sea of faces around him. Beyond the ones closest to the fire were hundreds more, likely the whole village of Trillingham. The crowds were to be expected, for it was the Festival time, a time when the people listened to the recounting of the tales, reminding themselves of the past so that they could better understand the present.

He took a deep breath. It reminded him of his age and the need to take on an apprentice. There was time yet, he was not so old, he kept telling himself as his bones would crackle and pop with the effort that it now took to just get out of bed. He believed that his life would be longer because he was not like the others. He was The Keeper of Stories, and he was also The Blood Drinker. The latter title had happily not been hauled out in many years. He did not take pride in that time despite the fact that it lead to the salvation of the village. He shook his head as the story of his past swam around in the forefront of his mind.

That was not the tale that he would tell tonight. It was not his tale to tell. This would seem odd to an outsider, for who else should tell the tale but the primary subject of it. Yet, in their village, the tales were told by others, the Keepers, as sometimes we do not see what is most important in our own tales, thus the telling of them cannot lead to true learning.

So, with a final shake of his head, Sam leaned toward the fire, the warmth of it full on his face. One of the young ones moved the long wooden handle attached to the metal plate toward him. On it were a variety of herbs, smoking now from the intensity of the fire. Sam leaned toward them and breathed in their aromatic smoke. He felt the tendrils of the smoke snake their way through his body and back up to his mind. He felt the stories in his subconscious whirl about jockeying for an escape route. The people of Trillingham inhaled a collective breath as Sam fell back from the smoke, eyes closed, while the story emerged.

He felt the story, knew the story even without the benefit of the smoke. It was just a beginning or maybe a middle at best, but it was a story that was a foundation for all the others. At times he felt that it was too much his story for it to belong in his collection, but the other Keepers had said that the Angels would not have entrusted it to him if it had been wrong. He sat up and opened his eyes to the people, but he was seeing beyond them to a time long ago, that only the eldest Keepers remembered. Dialogue and feelings rose like a tide in his mind as if he were living the whole of the vast story in mere moments. He braced his hands on his knees that were now folded under him, opened his mouth, and the story flowed out in what the people of Trillingham would describe as the most beautiful of all songs.

* * *

The woods surrounding the village of Trillingham had always been lush. The pathways to other villages a dangerous thing if one were to venture out on them in the night. the woods practically hummed with the life that they contained, the life that would grow stronger in the dark. The people of Trillingham use to claim that the woods were filled with wolves or bears, simple things that could be killed with an arrow properly notched and aimed. It wasn't until much later that they could comfortably acknowledge that what was in the woods was much more fearsome than any creature so easily dispatched as wolves and bears.

They were dark creatures that seemed to be confined to the woodlands. So long as the people of Trillingham, and one would assume the other villages, kept light in their village, they seemed to escape the torments of the creatures. The light that hung from the front of each villager's home was quite unique. The light was blue, and contained within lanterns fashioned of strangely durable metal. When new homes were erected and night would fall, the morning would show the inhabitants of the house that they had acquired a new lantern filled with the same cerulean glow.

Where most families left their lanterns stationed on the hook outside their front doors, Dean's family was different, or perhaps it was not his whole family as much as it was his father that was different. Their lantern was often removed for travel. More often it would be found fastened to the straps that ran over the lean body of Imp, their trusty black horse. Dean's father had made regular visits to the woods in search of his wife, Dean's mother. Long ago, she had been pulled from their wagon as they made their way to another village. The attack had been an anomaly, as travel on the roads between villages was usually safe in the day time. Mary had perhaps been unlucky, but that was not enough for John. He had felt that she was still alive out there, waiting for him to find her. He also thought that the attack was due to something greater. Regardless, she had not been found, and John felt the need to keep searching.

John's hunts for Mary occurred every two weeks and they would last for a week each time. He was predictable like that. Dean would care for the land and his brother during his father's absences. Each time that he would leave, John would give Dean a long list of instructions, and as he walked out the door, he would take the lantern with him. Dean had worried about the protections that left them when the lantern was removed from its hook. John had said that the houses around them gave off enough light to protect them. He further cautioned them by saying that should anything try to get to them, that they should run to the Singer's home. It was the home of their nearest neighbor. The Elder Singer was a constant presence in their lives. He had been a friend to their father even back in their youngest days.

This became the pattern. John would leave, and the boys would wait, until one night in late spring. Dean had thought that his father would break the routine, so ingrained in his system now, a routine that had been fostered over a number of years. He thought that the pattern would break because of the unusual storm. The sky had darkened with clouds so thick that one could not venture out safely even in the daytime. It was the second anomaly to affect Dean's life after the disappearance of his mother. Despite the storm, John left anyway. At this point in their lives, Dean had less to worry about, since Sam had decided to work as an apprentice to the eldest Keeper of Stories. As luck would have it, this placed Sam in the Singer house, since studying the stories and songs went hand in hand. It was a relief to Dean when he heard that Sam had found a path away from the family farm, a path that would offer greater support and protection from the dark than his father could provide.

The storm grew in strength. He felt the winds punching at the walls of their small cabin. Dean watched the walls give a little with each blast from the outside. He braced himself against a central wall within the cabin and held the long iron staff that his father had claimed was a weapon against the night creatures. Dean's hands did not shake, despite the fact that there was plenty to fear. So it was that after an hour of chaos and turmoil outside the walls of his home, that he decided to confront whatever was out there. He had assumed from the earliest moments that it was more than a storm. He could feel the presence of something quite different lurking out there deep in his bones.

What he did not expect was the swirling mass of light and dark that seemed to be engaged in an all-out war just beyond his doorstep. Blue light, like the lanterns, only so much larger, stretched and whirled out with a cyclone force. Occasionally, the light would sharpen into what looked like a giant redwood sized sword. It would slice outward into the dark mass that seemed to be threatening it. Dean stood in shock. Nothing prepares one for such a vision.

He watched. He wanted to help. He could not fathom how he would accomplish anything though beyond dying. The darkness pressed toward the light, crushing it to the ground. The two spread out and the light was not so visible now. Dean thought that he heard laughter, a deep sinister tone coming from the depth of the dark. He decided on the instant to help. He raised his iron staff over his shoulder and charged. He swung it out in wild arcs. He thought that he had even closed his eyes at one point as he swung and slashed at the very non-corporeal thing that was stretched out in front of him. The staff seemed to stir the creature. It bucked back from him. Dean continued to fight. Time seemed to slow and his movements with them until a force accompanied by light shot him back against the cabin. He felt the rough wall grating along his back as he slipped down to the ground. The light was large again, and it fought between the darkness and him. The sky above showed signs of dawn. Dean hoped that it would aid in the battle raging on in front of him. He got up, prepared to help again. The darkness shot past the light, throwing Dean into the wall with even greater force. This time though, his head made the first contact, and his mind slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

Dean woke up wrapped in a pile of blankets in his own bed. The room glowed in the amber lights of the fire that was burning in the fireplace. It took him a moment to remember what had happened, but as soon as he did, he sprang from the bed. He heard a noise coming from the back part of the house, Sam's room. He saw his staff leaning up against the wall, and he crept toward it.

He wrapped his fingers around it and moved to the door. The room was dark, but something was there. He could see the dark form bent over the edge of the bed. Dean raised his staff and swung with great force at the form. The body ducked and then lunged at him, knocking him to the floor. They rolled about in a heap of limbs. He was about to throw a punch when he caught a glimpse of the face that was about to meet his fist. "Sammy?"

"Dean? What are you doing?" They were both panting now after the effort. They settled back on opposite walls. "I thought that you were still out in the bed."

"What are you doing here?" Dean got up and reached down for Sam.

Sam took his hand and let himself be pulled up. "I heard the storm, and then there was so much light. I ran here from the Singer's. They tried to stop me, and they were successful at first. I finally got away. When I got here, you were in the bed and the storm had passed." He moved past Dean to the living room. He pointed to the corner that was Dean's space. "Did you notice the lantern?"

"What?" Dean walked to the bedside table. There was a bright blue light glowing out from an ornate lantern. He crouched down next to it and let his fingers brush along the intricate metal frame. He felt the cool edges of it. Something about the light seemed to throb out at him with the touch. He tore his gaze from it and looked back at Sam. "Where did this come from? Did dad come back?" He knew though that the lantern was not the one that had been strapped to Imp.

"I don't know where it came from. It was just sitting there next to you when I came in. Another thing too, Imp is here."

"And dad?"

"No dad, just Imp." Sam looked worried.

Dean stood up next to him. "That's not good, Sam." He walked to the window and peered out at the yard that was blanketed in early dawn light. "We need to go look for him."

"I can't leave the Singers." Sam sounded concerned. "He'll come back. He always comes back."

"Not without Imp. He wouldn't get separated from Imp unless something was wrong." Dean reached over to the back of the chair, grabbing his long leather overcoat. He slipped it on and moved to the door. "You coming?"

"I really can't leave the Singers. I made a vow to the Elders. I am meant to be the next Keeper of the Stories. Any time spent away from the Elders will be viewed as a sign of my waning dedication. They'll choose someone else." Dean gave Sam his most judgmental scowl and taking just one additional moment to grab his staff and the lantern he shoved past Sam and went out the door. Sam followed him as he strode to Imp. "You can't go alone."

"Well, someone's gotta go. Dad's out there." He got to Imp and saw that there was a lantern fastened to her side. He pulled the lantern from the strap and fastened the new one in its place. He did not know why he made the swap. The new one just felt like it was stronger. He passed the old lantern to Sam. "Here, take this and hang it by the door. If dad comes home, tell him what happened. It's better that you stay here. Someone needs to be able to tell dad what happened and about the storm."

"You shouldn't go, Dean. He wouldn't want you to do this." Sam rested an arm on his shoulder and waited for Dean to change his mind.

Dean shrugged him off, but before he left he reached back and squeezed Sam's shoulder. "You take care of yourself, Sammy. I'll be back in a couple of days." He grabbed a hold of Imp's reigns and in a single graceful move lifted himself onto the horse's back. He rode off toward the trailhead and toward the dawn that loomed over the woodland.

* * *

Dean knew the trail from having accompanied his father a number of times in the past. He knew where to look for signs of his father's journey. Imp had distinctive tracks that she left behind, on account of her customized horse shoes. Father had ordered the blacksmith to add symbols that he had learned about in the next village over. The symbols were said to repel the creatures. Somehow, John had thought that the added protection on Imp would transfer to him too. "Fine bit of good that did him, huh Imp." Dean gave her a little pat on her flank and directed her to the side of the trail. There was a nice stream there that he and his father usually chose to stop at to water Imp.

While Imp lowered her head to the water, Dean looked up and down the stream, taking in the patches of land that had been flattened by others that had passed through the region. Then he saw something familiar. A small leather band, his mother's amulet. His father never took it off. Dean scooped it up, cradling it close to his chest. Imp gave a little whinny. He walked back to her and gave her another pat. "Where'd he go, Imp? Did he go down that trail?" Dean pointed off at the rough cut trail that made its way from the stream off into the depths of the woods. The darkness there was almost tangible. Surely dad wouldn't have willingly gone in there. Yet despite his thinking it, Dean knew that, in fact, that that was exactly where his father had gone. "Well, here we go." She seemed to hesitate, but he directed her onto the path anyway.

They followed the trail for nearly an hour, the world around them growing darker with each passing step. Nothing seemed to stir though, beyond the slightest rustle of leaves with the breeze. It was the darkness that had him worried though, It was afternoon, and he could not see the sunny sky past all of the thick growth of trees. Their path was lighted with the bright glow of the lantern. Dean and Imp pushed on through the woods, and Dean's mind wandered back to the fight that lead to his unconscious state.

His memories were brief bursts of clarity. There had been someone that had carried him to his bed, maybe. There was no form, just the feeling of warmth around him. He remembered seeing the blue light, a gentle swirl around him as he lay in the bed. It brushed across his cheek with what seemed like affection. The lantern had been there; he remembered that now. It had been empty. Then the light had moved over the lantern and some of it stayed behind inside of it. With a final brush of light over his forehead, Dean had fallen back into unconsciousness.

He was jarred back into the present when he came to a slight clearing in the woods. Just beyond it was a gate, pearlescent, lined with was that gold? Dean dismounted Imp and lead her to the gate. He reached out, expecting it to solidly resist him. It opened at the touch. "Should we?" He looked back at Imp, who gave a negative shake of her head. "Ah, come on girl, where's your sense of adventure?" He pulled her along and they entered the vast space beyond the wall.

It was strange to him, seeing the massive structure that stood before him. Who would have guessed that something so immense could exist within the woods. "Do you think that dad is in there?" Imp gave a little whinny in reply. He undid the strap on the lantern and fastened it to his staff. He let go of Imp's reigns, trusting her to stay nearby. There was an impressive wooden doorway that rose up at the top of the ornately carved stone stairway. Dean noticed that each step carried a symbol, and as he stepped on them, he felt a familiar pulse of energy.

Dean reached out to the door, feeling the same pulse of power under the symbols that had also been carved there. The door moved open under his hand. He took a small step past it and into the room. "Dad," he called out into the empty place. His voice echoed back to him. The vast cavernous hall was dark, but Dean did not feel like the place was as empty as it was pretending to be. He committed to being inside then, pushing the door closed behind him.

The echo of his footsteps filled the room. There would be no sneaking up on anyone in here. He felt a pull leading him up the grand staircase that swooped up to a massive landing before splitting in two directions. He got to the landing and followed the pull to the right. The walls were covered in large hanging tapestries depicting battles. The creatures in them were not entirely familiar to Dean, but he couldn't help but feel as though they also kind of were. He reached the end of the hall and paused at a small tapestry that hung near a door. This one felt very familiar. It depicted a falling trail of blue light chased by a massive wave of dark clouds. He raised his fingers to it and brushed them over the blue. The light in the lantern gave a pulse, reminding him to continue onward.

He could hear a low hum of voices up ahead, and he endeavored to tread lightly as he went toward them. As he drew closer, he could hear his father's distinctive voice. "You must let me go. I have a family."

"It is not safe for you to go. You have no light to lead you, and I must remain here to recover, thanks to you." The second voice sounded low and gravely, clearly exasperated. Dean somewhat understood that tone, having employed it exactly twice with his father, both times were incredibly unsuccessful.

"You couldn't possibly understand. I have two boys. They need me. You have to let me go." His father sounded like he was near tears, which Dean decided was an act, because his father never showed emotion beyond the sorrow that came from losing his wife. Since then he had donned a cloak of stoicism and duty. There had been no room for anything else.

Suddenly the voice was rough and angry, "How dare you try to manipulate me? I am aware of your family, your so called commitments. I have saved you, pulled you from the inevitable death that would have come to you in the storm last night. I also know that you leave your family with no light to protect them. And for what? You care nothing for them. I am appalled by your actions. So, don't begin to tell me what I don't understand." There was silence. Then the voice spoke again. "I don't know that I will ever be able to help you leave. I am too weak to make the trek through the woods now, and the light that you stole from your boys left with your horse."

There was a sound of a scuffle and Dean knew that it was his father trying to escape. There was a grunt and the sound of a body being flung back likely to a wall. Dean rushed forward. "Dad!" He shouted as he burst into the room, staff in hand. He froze up at the sight. His father was not injured, but he was slumped back against the wall, light pressing him back.

"You should not be here." The voice he had heard before growled out to him.

"Let him go." There were whispers in the room now, too many to discern what they were saying. The light seemed to move away from John. It became more solid.

"You brought the lantern." It was almost as though the light was speaking to someone other than Dean.

"Yes. What does that have to do with anything?" Dean did not know why he felt like he could speak to this creature in this way, but something in him told him that he was not in danger.

"I did not expect to see it, is all." There was silence again for a moment then the light spoke. "Your father may go."

Together they breathed out a sigh of relief. The whispering began again. Dean caught one phrase in the sea of words. "The Righteous Man." He felt the words like cold fingers on warm flesh.

"Come on, Dean. Let's go home." John reached out to him and gripped his shoulder. Dean moved to go with him.

"Dean cannot go." The voice announced. "There is not enough light to protect you both. One will go. I assume that it will be you." The light moved around John then. "The other will stay. The risk inherent in traveling from here without light is great. To tempt the Demons of the woods again would be asking for death. And this time, I am not strong enough to save anyone."

"I won't go without my son." John roared out, grabbing Dean as he did so.

"Of course, it is a choice. Dean may risk going with you. One light to get you both through the darkest woods. For one it will be a risk, and night is soon to fall. The Demons have been restless. I do not think that one should take a risk with the life of one that they…" he paused in his speech then added, "love." That one word nearly fell from him as though he felt that it contained lies and unspeakable cruelties.

Dean's father pulled at his arm again. "Come on Dean. He said it was a choice. We choose to go."

Dean stared at the light, trying to read something in it beyond the words and whirling mass of it. He could feel it, the power, the energy of it. "Decide," it said with force.

Dean took a step toward it, his father's hand still gripping his arm. The light whirled past his hand, away from him. The slight brush of the light though, reminded him of that one moment as he had hovered between consciousness and darkness. The way that the light had lingered. The affection that had been there. He would be safe here, if he chose to stay. His father would be safe if he let him have the full protection of the lantern. "I'll stay."

With those words the light whirled out with a gale-force wind, carrying John away from the room. "Dean, no!" He heard his father scream as he was swooped out of sight. Dean crumbled to the stone floor, cradling his head in his hands. The room had grown suddenly dark. It was then that he realized that the lantern had been taken too.

* * *

The room felt cold. The door out was not closed, and he could just leave if he chose to do so. He stayed. The whispers whirled about again. He could hear some of their words. "The one." A breeze seemed to move through the room. He wondered if he would get a blanket and some straw to make a bed in this place. Then he heard, "We must give him comfort. Humans need more."

The room became suddenly brighter. He scrambled to the corner and raised his hands out in front of himself, a defensive move. Should have grabbed the staff. He thought too late as he glimpsed the staff on the other side of the room. "What do you want?"

The light became smaller. It shrunk back to the opposite corner. "It has been brought to my attention that you would be more comfortable in another room, one with a bed and a few windows."

Dean hesitated a moment before speaking. "I thought that I would be staying here."

"Well, of course if you would prefer this space, I will not argue." The light moved out into the hall. "If you would like to see your options, then follow me." Dean hesitated again, but in the end, he followed.

Dean felt warmth beginning to trickle back into him the more he moved away from the room that he had been in. The light moved onward, rapidly toward some untold destination. They reached the far end of a hall and Dean wondered if he would be doomed to forever being lost in this vast place. They turned a corner and everything became incredibly bright. The hall overlooked the floor below, a dining hall made to hold hundreds of people. The wall beyond it was all glass, more glass than Dean had ever seen in one place. It stretched in panes from the floor to the ceiling. The view beyond it showed the distant ocean, the woods, and strangely the village of Trillingham. Dean stopped and leaned into the view.

"That's impossible. How can I see home." Dean felt the warmth of the light as it too stopped moving away. It returned to him.

"We see what we wish to see. Normally, I see the village, and sometimes I see home. Today perhaps it is giving you what you wish to see." The voice was quiet, almost sympathetic sounding.

"Are you telling me that the window is reading my mind and that is why I'm seeing my home?"

"Yes."

"Amazing." Dean turned to the light and thought that he saw something flicker in it, an almost human face beneath the glow. "Do you always look like this?"

"I am much larger. I am reducing my size considerably to be in your presence." The light began moving down the hall again.

"Well, that sounds like bragging." Dean laughed a little and followed. "What I meant though, was do you always look like light, or do you have another form? It seemed like you had a face for a moment."

"I can have any form I choose. This is my natural state, albeit smaller, not to brag." There was a low rumble of sound that Dean thought might be laughter. They reached the end of the hall and a door opened. The room was larger by far than any he had ever been in. The walls were lined with shelves, some containing books. The far wall had large glass doors that opened out onto a balcony. Dean walked out onto the balcony. The land around the castle was green in a way that glowed. The tiny trees and bushes below had been manipulated into shapes. There was a vast flower garden surrounding a large fountain. Bees and butterflies flitted about through the brightly colored place. His thoughts were interrupted by the light, "Will this room do, or shall we look at some others?"

"Just ten minutes ago, I thought that I was going to be living in a dungeon, so I think that this will suit me just fine." Dean turned from the view of the land. "Why are you doing this?"

"You and your father have left me no choice. I could not have you both dying after spending so much energy saving him."

"I don't even know what happened to him. One minute he was with us, the next Imp was back at our home without him in tow."

"Imp?"

"Our horse." Dean turned back to the view below and saw that Imp was quietly nibbling at some grass. Guess dad didn't take him. "See." Dean pointed down to Imp. "She's beautiful, huh?"

"A lovely creature."

"So, how did my dad come to you?" Dean turned back to the room, the light.

"He was foolish. He tried to enter the woods in the night. Of course, demons attacked him. He fought, and I witnessed it. He gave me no choice. I had to pull him to my castle. I fought the creatures that attacked him and then pursued them back to the village." The story ended abruptly. "Your father is a great fool."

Dean did not disagree, but he did not like hearing someone else saying it outright. "I'll kindly ask you to refrain from such comments in my presence." Dean tried to look formidable. He puffed up his chest and his hands curled into fists. The light retreated to the door.

"I'll give you time to yourself then." The light moved past the door closing it in its wake.

* * *

Dean was growing restless one hour into his stay within the room. He was not use to long periods of inactivity. He looked over the books and tested out the bed. It was comfortable, very. He tried to close his eyes for a bit, but kept thinking of home and all that wasn't getting done in his absence. There were the cows to milk, and the fields would need attention soon. He thought of Sam and how little he would be able to help now that he was an apprentice to the Keepers. He thought of his father and how little he even seemed to do around the cabin or farm anymore. He was always off on his hunts. This could change him.

Dean opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. The clock on the wall let out a gentle chime that repeated several times. He sat up, and as if on cue his stomach growled out at him. The whispers returned. "We'll feed you in the dining hall."

He got up then and walked to the door. It opened before he even touched it. "I am capable of opening doors, just so you know." He walked out into the bright hallway and looked out again at the broad expanse of windows beyond. It was night now, and the visions that the window provided were a reflection of that. Trillingham glowed in the distance with the blue lantern lights. The ocean glistened under the moonlight's beams. He watched the window until he heard a voice from below say, "Show me."

Dean looked down and saw the light hovering down in the dining room. The image in the window changed. The entirety of it seemed to be a mirror now only larger. He could see himself looking rather shocked as he leaned into the balcony. The light below made a noise that sounded startled to Dean's ears. The image in the window vanished. "I'm sorry. I wasn't spying on you." Dean called down to the dining room.

"Come down." The voice was low and commanding. Dean made his way to the stairs. The smell of the food was practically pulling him along.

When Dean reached the long dining room table he took a seat at the far end. The light hovered beside him. "Well, are you just going to whirl around over there?"

"I do not require food." The voice seemed irritated.

"So, what are you going to do while I eat?"

"I'll just watch."

Dean let out a frustrated humph and said, "You aren't going to watch me eat. That's just uncomfortable." He kicked out a seat and nodded to it. "Can you at least sit or something?"

"I can, but it will hardly change the fact that I am not eating." The light moved to the seat and compressed its glow to the space. Dean thought for a moment that he was seeing a face again in the cerulean glow.

"At least now, you don't look like you are hovering over me. This is way less awkward." Dean began scooping various foods onto his plate. Some of it did not look familiar at all. He smelled those items before adding them to his plate. He began eating and occasionally glanced up at the light. "What are you?"

The light did not answer right away. When it did, it was with one quiet word. "Angel."

"Can't be. They don't exist." Dean shoved food into his mouth and chewed loudly.

"You eat food with the mouth of a goat."

Dean stopped chewing for a moment, and then with a smirk began chewing with even more goatlike intensity. With a mouth full of food he said, "Sometimes I can see a face." He waved his hand in front of what he thought was the general area in which a face would be. The light whirled about a bit.

"I have not formed a face for you to see."

"Well, something is there." Dean went back to eating. "So, what are you, really?"

"I have told you that I am an angel. Will all of our conversations be so tedious?" The light whirled up then and poured over the back of the seat and toward the window.

"I am rather tedious. My father told me that the angels were a myth. He said that if they existed that they would have protected my mother." Dean chewed on another bite of food and watched the light.

"I must leave. You have instructed me to not speak disparagingly of your father, and I find that this conversation has no other direction to go but that. With those words, the light shot from the room leaving behind a trail of energy that Dean could still feel even after the departure.

* * *

Days passed, then weeks. The light did not join him for meals. The light was just gone. Dean explored the castle, took in the many vistas that the hundreds of balconies had to offer. He explored passageways to libraries, and rooms filled to the rafters with weapons.

Most days he would visit with Imp, brush her hair with grooming items that he found in the nearby stable. It was after such a visit that he made his way back to the castle when the whispers kicked up again. "The master will return."

"Well, good for him or it or whatever." Dean tried to feign indifference. Truth be told, he had grown bored and welcomed the opportunity to communicate with something that was not a horse or a disembodied whisper. Light, apparently, was a step up. He mounted the steps to the castle and decided to kill time in the eastern wing. He wandered aimlessly at first. The dungeon room was there, the last place that he had seen his father. He stopped in the entryway to it. He wondered how he was doing back home, but made a silent promise to himself not to look for him in the visions that the window could offer. He stepped away from the room and wandered to the farthest corner of the eastern wing. He had not explored all of the rooms in this area yet.

There was a large, foreboding door at the end of the hall. The wood was carved intricately with symbols that resembled the ones on the stairway out front. Dean approached it and pushed the door open. It gave without protest. He stepped through and looked at the odd collection of furnishings that were scattered about the place. The far window was covered in a massive deep red curtain. In the center of the room was a large metal bowl filled with a cloudy liquid. In the center was a single feather floating like a small ship in a vast sea. Dean leaned over it and reached out a finger to it.

"Do not touch that." A rough growl rumbled throughout the room. Dean had not been scared in this place even once since his father had left on a gust of wind well over a month ago, but something in the sound of the voice rushed over him, causing him to shake head to foot. He pulled his hand back swiftly to his side and moved away from the bowl.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" Dean felt the rush of wind in the room buffeting the curtains and knocking over small items.

"Leave!" The voice yelled at him. Dean crawled into a run and fell through the door. He ran down the stairway and out the front door. He leapt onto Imp and rode at a fast clip from the castle. The sun was setting, but he did not think of that until he was deep into the woods. He was not on a trail, but instead was surrounded by the wild tangle of trees.

"Faster, Imp," Dean encouraged. Then she reared up, her front legs kicking fiercely at the air in front of them. She let out a high pitched screech. Dean tried to hold her steady while not falling. He could see now what had caused her to pull up. There was darkness whirling out from the woods. It was taking a form that seemed more solid with each passing second. It rushed toward him all power and now tangible substance. Imp reared back more and Dean felt himself falling. There was a warm current of air at his back that caught him up and then he was on the ground staring at light, so much light in the dark woods.

The dark clouds were pressed back. Dean scrambled back more. The light was fierce in its battle. Something was shifting in its essence. Dean was trying to find a way to help. He had no weapons, no strength that could rival a wave of evil. He leapt back onto Imp again and pulled back on her reigns until she reared up again. Her legs punched out at the air in front of her as Dean fought to keep his balance on her back. As her hooves came into contact with the darkness, it shot away. Dean kept forcing her forward. The light fought on around them. It seemed to grow more and more solid with each passing second. As suddenly as it had arrived, the darkness shot away. The light seemed to fall to the earth, more solid now than it should have been

Dean slipped off of Imp and approached it. It looked human now, with a glow of blue light humming around it. The form looked as though it was a sleeping man, deep, dark brown hair a mess around its head. Dean reached down and scooped him up and carried him back in the direction of the castle. Imp followed him. He did not realize how far he had gotten until thirty minutes into the walk back when his back and legs began to shake in spasms of revolt. "Imp." He called the horse to a halt, and with his remaining strength hefted the man onto the back of the horse. With great effort, he pulled himself onto the horse as well. In a fit of utter exhaustion he slumped over the man and Imp was left to carry them both back without a guiding hand.

* * *

Imp had made her way back. The gate opened for her as she approached. The whispers were a chorus of alarm around them all. Dean was barely conscious of it. He felt his body being pulled from the horse. He felt what could have been hands cradling his back and legs as he was moved from the yard into the castle. He cracked his eyes open toward his side and saw that the man he had carried was hovering along beside him. Dean closed his eyes again, too tired to look at the world.

The sun rose and set on their world before Dean could pull himself from the depths of unconsciousness. With all of his effort he lifted his body from the too comfortable bed. He forced his legs to propel himself forward. The dining room was filled with food. "Guess you knew I'd be hungry."

The whispers responded, "We anticipated your need."

"Where is the light?" He paused a moment then added, "The angel. Where's the angel?"

"He has not yet risen. He has been damaged in the last battle. It is uncertain whether or not he is capable of recovery." The whispers had not said so much in the past, so this had Dean worried. He grabbed a pastry from a tray and moved from the table.

"Lead the way."

"To where do you wish to be lead?" The whispers still spoke in one voice.

"Take me to the angel." He tried not to sound annoyed, but he really thought that his request was quite obvious.

"He would not want you to see him like this."

"He's not awake enough to make his wishes known, so take me to him."

The door on the far end of the room opened. Dean took that as a sign that he was supposed to head that way. After passing through the door he noticed that the lanterns hung along the hall had begun to glow. "Follow the lanterns."

The path became familiar. Dean realized that they were leading him back to the room that had been the source of their troubles, the room with the feather. The door opened in front of him.

Beneath the large window was the angel. He was laying on his back on a pile of cushions spread out in the light. The glow of blue from before was still on him; although, it had lessened in its intensity. He moved closer until he was right next to him. He dropped down to the edge and sat there, staring at the face that seemed to be peacefully sleeping.

"What is his name?" Dean asked the whispers.

"He is called Castiel," they said in unison.

Dean reached out a tentative hand to the angel and let his fingers brush the side of his face. "Hello, Cas." There was awe in his tone. "Thank you for saving me," he whispered, and then he added, "again." For now he was certain that it was Castiel that had been there the night that the darkness had come to his home. "I am sorry about the way that I have managed to drag you into my mess. I am sorry for the harm that has befallen you."

Castiel took a deep breath and cracked open his eyes. "Do you always talk this much?"

Dean laughed. "You were supposedly not making a recovery, so I figured I'd talk until you were annoyed enough to wake up."

"That seems to be an effective strategy." He attempted to sit up only to give up a moment later. He closed his eyes and seemed to concentrate on something.

"Are you going to be okay?" Dean reached out to help him.

"I believe that I will not be as I was. It was imperative that I not use my grace any further until a full recovery had occurred."

Dean watched him as he shifted into a more comfortable position. Dean pulled a pillow over to help him stay upright. "I'm sorry, Cas."

"Hmm. My name is Castiel." He sounded frustrated.

"Yeah, Cas seems to fit. You shouldn't have yelled at me. A simple, don't touch the feather would have sufficed."

"I have immeasurable hindsight now. Thank you for your perspective." Castiel grimaced.

"What is it anyway?" Dean pointed back toward the bowl.

Castiel's tone was hushed as he spoke, and Dean had to lean in to hear it. "It is my curse. I have been charged with the protection of the people of your village. When I was first sent here, the bowl had been full. They would have been my reward at the end of it all. All I had to do was to protect the humans in my charge. Over the many centuries that I have been stationed as your guardian, the people of Trillingham have lost a brace of warriors. The demons became stronger with each battle, and I lost some of what once filled the bowl that you see there. The last feather represents the last warrior, and the last chance that I have to return home whole."

Dean felt something heavy weighing on his chest. I cost him his strength. I made him weak. "Who is the last warrior?" He thought of the many elders in his village. There were some that he thought might be capable of great feats in the field.

Castiel tipped his head to the side, a gesture that seemed too human for one that was a celestial beam of light just a few short days ago. "That should be obvious, Dean." He stared at Dean a little deeper as if he was trying to read him more. "You are the last warrior. This is a role that has been handed down through your family for many generations. Surely, your mother told you of this."

"My mother?" Dean tipped his head now, a mirror to Castiel's look.

"Yes, she was the last warrior that I had to defend. I failed in my duty then, and I vowed that I would not fail you." He looked at Dean, something like sorrow seemed to line the edges of his eyes. "I'm truly sorry, Dean."

"I'm not a warrior. My mother was not a warrior. I don't understand."

"She would come to the woodlands to train, to fight. When she accompanied your father on the trade road, it should have been safe. It was daytime and she had been trained well. I had a great deal of confidence in her abilities. The demons gathered together though. They called forth the old one, the first of the Fallen. He was the one to pull her to her grave." He let out a long slow breath of air. "I decided after her, that I would keep a respectable distance. I felt that my presence was causing more harm than good. So, I observed you from afar, and protected you without your knowledge."

"So, it was you in front of my cabin before, the night that the demons attacked?"

"Yes. I think that they believed that it would be easy. I believe that they had questions concerning my devotion to you and this mission." Castiel breathed in a final long breath. "I need to rest more. They will know that I am weak now, and will want to attack you."

"Okay, Cas. You rest." Dean helped him lay down more comfortably.

"My name is Castiel."

"Okay, Cas." Dean said again. Castiel closed his eyes, a look of resignation on his face.

* * *

The seasons passed swiftly. The leaves fell in the autumn, and the snow of winter blanketed their world in a white wonderland of cold. Castiel's recovery was slow. He could venture out of his room for a few hours at a time. He shared his worries that there would be an attack and that he needed to get Dean trained for battle. Dean knew that Cas did not have the energy for such things, so he did his best to avoid the subject.

"Would you like to see the outside world today?" Dean asked over a breakfast of eggs and meat.

"We should train. I have much more strength today than I have had in the past." And Dean looked at him closely and saw that he did have a glow about him, a hint of the blue that had been so present before.

"We'll see. Let's just go outside and then see how you feel." Dean ate a bite or two then added, "I wouldn't want to set you back in your recovery. I am a warrior after all."

"You will not be a challenge beyond the general irritation that your personality supplies." Cas was looking down at his own empty plate, a slight raise to the corner of his lip a telling sign that he had learned something of humor since meeting Dean.

"I have a marvelous personality. You just don't know how to appreciate it. As for a challenge, you'll see. I am not entirely without training." They made their way from the dining room to the yard. The world was cold, but Dean did not feel it, since Castiel had provided several layers of clothing for him to wear. Castiel wore just a thin white tunic over tight tan pants. He walked out into the snow, trailing his long fingers along in his wake.

Before Dean realized what was happening, a snowy mass hit him with a stinging snap, right upside his head. "Unfair. You didn't say that you were going to attack."

"In your experience, warrior, does the enemy typically announce his or her intentions?" Castiel scooped up another ball of snow and threw it with even greater force at Dean. Dean was paying attention now, though, and dove behind a tree. The snow came into contact with the bark with a force that told Dean that Cas was seriously trying to hit him.

Dean grabbed snow and fired back, hitting Cas in the leg. He heard him mutter something that may have been a curse, or a cut-off comment that Dean did not understand. "Didn't expect to get hit, huh?" Dean made his way out to the far garden, with higher trees. He could see Cas tracking him with stealth and quiet movements.

"I did not expect you to hit me, no, but you won't be successful a second time." Dean lost sight of Cas as he hid behind a tall mound of snow near the former flower garden. Then there was a mass flying through the air at him., smashing his body back into the snow drift.

"Damn it." Dean managed to yell just before Cas smashed a large handful of snow in his face. Dean flipped him back and returned the favor. "See how you like it." Dean had him pinned to the wet snow his legs stretched over Cas'. He pressed down further with his hips ready to smash another handful of snow in Cas' smug face when suddenly Cas' expression changed. He looked down at their legs, and then tossed Dean away into the snow. He stalked off to the castle without a word tossed back. "What can't handle defeat." Dean hollered after him.

* * *

Things had changed after that. Castiel did not ask to train, but Dean did. In fact, he asked to train on a near daily basis. Cas avoided it. They sat in the dining room one evening together, the whispers providing a chorus of song for them while Dean ate. It was pleasant and warm. Dean looked up from each bite to see that Castiel was watching him. "You're worried about something," Dean said matter of factly.

"I am worried that they have not attacked us yet. I won't be able to defend you or the village if they attack, and yet they don't. This fact has provided me no end of confusion."

"Maybe if we trained a little," Dean muttered. "Is it possible that you are wrong, that they have no intentions of attacking?"

"I'm not wrong. They are cruel and will unleash harm. I am just missing something. It is this form. I am quite limited in it." He stood and marched over to the grand window and seemed to be staring out into the darkness of the night. Dean got up and walked over to his side.

"I am sorry that I have made things difficult for you." He rested his hand on Castiel's arm.

Castiel looked over at him and said, "You are not the cause of my difficulties, Dean, though you try very hard to carry the blame." He turned to Dean then and rested his hand on Dean's shoulder. It was an odd sort of contact, not quite a hug, not quite your typical stance of comfort. Castiel turned back to the window, and their hands fell back at their sides. "Tell me, Dean, do you ever miss it?"

Dean let his eyes wander over to the area that held his home, his family. Overlaying it all he could see Cas' reflection on the glass. He turned his head just a little and said, "Sometimes." The quiet that surrounded the word felt heavy. "My brother was a downright nuisance when he was a kid, always getting into trouble. I never cared for anyone more though. He was, is very important." Dean was not much for sharing his feelings, but what he had said about Sam could have been summed up in just a few words, he loved him. Saying it though, was not part of his lexicon, so he hoped that Cas understood.

"One of your elders once said, 'The greatest thing in all the world is just to love.' He was a wise man. I found it interesting that he had added to the statement that, 'If you can't love, let the world be done with you.' It matters that there are those in the world that we would readily give up the entire world for. Love is the greatest thing that man has been given. Even the angels envy it."

"What do you mean? Why would the angels envy it?"

"We envy what we don't receive. Our lives are solitary. We are given a mission and we do what we must to accomplish it. Emotions, attachments, these are human conditions, distractions from our purpose." Castiel seemed to concentrate on the window with great intensity.

"So, you do not love anything?" Dean watched him for a reaction.

Castiel was still while he answered. "Dean, can I tell you something, if you promise not to tell a single soul?" He turned to Dean now and looked at him. Dean nodded. "Sometimes I have questions, doubts. I think that maybe, sometimes, it is possible to live a life that is about more than a mission. It might even be better if more angels thought this way. It seems that one must learn what is worth fighting for if one is to fight at all." He turned back to the window. "Why do you never ask to see your family?"

Dean tried to take his mind down the other conversational path. "I think that it would be difficult to see them, and not truly see them. It is better this way, I think."

"I think that you should see them. It will remind you to live a life that is more than a mission." Castiel stepped back from the window, and Dean did the same.

"Okay." Dean stared off at the area that was Trillingham. The image changed though, and they were brought closer to it all. Dean saw his home and then he was in it. John and Bobby were there kneeling next to a bed. Sam's long limbs hung loose over the sides. "Sammy?" Dean reached out for the window. He felt Cas at his side. They watched together, but they could not hear what was said. "I have to go to them Cas. Dad has never been good at caring for Sam." Castiel slipped away from him.

"I won't be able to protect you there," he whispered. Dean looked back at the scene in the window. Sam wasn't moving. There was something on the floor of the cabin, blood? Castiel turned back to him, resignation on his face as he looked at Dean. "I can send you back." He lowered his head as if the floor were the most impressive thing in the room. Dean stepped over to him.

He rested his hands on Castiel's shoulders, "Please."

"I will understand if you don't wish to come back," he said as he pressed his forehead to Dean's.

Dean thought about the words, the proximity of Cas, and of all that had changed in so short a period of time. "I'll come back." Cas stepped back then. "I'll need to get my training after all."

Castiel smiled at him. "In that case, I can give a gift." He reached out to Dean's arm and rolled up his sleeve. He pressed his hand to him. "This will hurt. Travel this way is not ideal. You'll forget some things, but you will also have the means to return when you beauty of it is that you will get their in an instant, and I will not be far from you metaphysically speaking."

"What about you? What about the mission?" Dean asked.

"I'll be fine. Some things are more important than the mission." With that he pressed his hand more firmly to Dean's shoulder. Dean felt Cas' hand burn into his flesh as a flash of light blinded him to the world around him. The next sight that he saw was inside of his cabin.

"Dean?" His father stood now, staring at him with shock plainly etched into his features. "How did you get back?"

"I don't know. I don't even know where I was." Dean blinked his eyes and the burn of blue light faded from his vision. Now all he saw, was right in front of him"

"But, what about the angel?" His father reached out to him.

Dean shrugged him off with a smirk and knelt next to Sam, resting a hand on his chest where the heartbeat felt strong. "What are you talking about? You know angels don't exist."

 

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written as a part of the Destiel Ficlet Challenge. I was given the prompt "If I Can't Love Her," a song from the musical Beauty and the Beast. The abrupt ending is due to the fact that I had to contain all of this in 10k words to adhere to the rules. I hope that you all enjoyed it, and that you feel the overwhelming desire to leave comments. As always, you can also follow me on Tumblr. I am spearywritesstuff. Thanks for reading.


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